The 2012 King March in Atlanta: An Emperor Who Had No Clothes

The best way to honor Dr. King today is to hold up a mirror and ask our self and ask 'Who are we really?'—Wise Indian Woman, 2012 King Ecumenical Service

I woke up because the day was not supposed to be like any ole day. Between sound bites of King speeches, Civil Rights stories, and a long radio documentary, the eve of the King Holiday gave me a lot to think about.  When I turned on the radio and heard “Able Mable's" familiar voice say “Power to the People,” I smiled. 

On Facebook, my friends posted King quotes and photographs like crazy.  I added to the procession by “sharing” a photo of King during a game of pool. I also shared the vintage photo Jeff Bond posted of his father (Julian Bond) with Dr. King.  My profile was becoming a King photo montage -- King at home, with Ralph David Abernathy, and with Malcolm X.

On the home front, my daughter had been at a friend’s all weekend. I called to wake up to watch the televised King Service. She didn't feel like getting up because she'd gone to bed late. Predictably, my spitfire followed: “Wake up now.  Do-you-know-how-many-people-got-up-for-you?  Do-you-know-how-many-people-sacrificed-their-lives-for-you-so-you- can-even-go-the-places-you-go?  Aunt-Marion-even-lost-her-unborn-child-during-the-Civil Rights Movement ...” 

I thought back to my childhood when our family would go to the Ebenezer service each year.  One time we got there late, tipped down the isle, and squeezed in to a few remaining seats in a front row. Amid coats and other items, my younger sister edged down the row, plopping right down on top of “Daddy King’s” (King, Sr.’s) hat. 

“Hurry up,” I texted my daughter. “Are ya‘ll dressed?  We can’t be late.”  We were headed for the 2012 King march and rally. Ironically, I had never attended King events with anyone except African Americans. The new change was not an intentional one. It didn't occur to me at first. There was my daughter, her best friend whose father is African American, her friend’s mother who is German, and their classmate who is Hispanic.

On the way to the march, my daughter talked about her weekend. Had I seen her Facebook photos with her breakdancing? Can I believe someone had to drink cow's blood on an episode of Fear Factor? But I wasn’t really listening. I was thinking about the seriousness of the Civil Rights Movement. I wanted us to be reverent as we walked down Gilmer towards Peachtree. I wanted us to think about the meaning and relevance of King’s life. I wanted us to reflect on what it must have been like to march non-violently among violent water hoses, hooded Klansmen, killer police dogs, and spit. 

As we walked I recognized the names of streets near Five Points where the 1906 Race Riot in Atlanta had occurred. At Woodruff Park we saw a few Occupy Atlanta tents and people started lining up for the march. I saw senior citizens who'd come out of respect for King and parents who'd brought their children. I got the sense that people really wanted to give King his props.  

For some reason I expected African drumming to signal the parade’s start. But without fanfare, the parade’s front line emerged. In it was Mayor Kasim Reed. The second group was Trinity House / Big Bethel -- a residential drug and alcohol treatment center on Bell Street. Bro. Mzee Tate, Trinity House’s former Director, proudly commandeered his men along their side. I waved.

People handed out flyers and a couple of men with bullhorns urged people to register to vote. There was a delegation of Quick Trip employees. A gay man in a grass skirt entertained the crowd and another pranced in full drag leading a group concerned with Gay Rights legislation. Other small groups marched representing reparations, African pride, the Soul Food Museum, Black Flight Attendants, Buddhists for Peace. I saw a small school band. Fraternity men in their paraphernalia stopped briefly to step. A woman among a black rodeo group of men trotted on her decorated horse with her guns pointed high in the air. It felt as though 20 minutes had passed. Then, as unceremoniously as the march / parade had begun, it ended. 

I didn't see Spelman, Morehouse, or Clark represented. I heard no college bands.  I saw no older men wearing overalls like “Uncle Hosea” used to do. I don’t think I even saw a NAACP banner. And even though I know they were there somewhere, I didn’t see one person from the King Family. The march last year was a disappointment but the one this year was even more of an embarrassment. It was downright pitiful. 

Still hoping for something more, we headed down Auburn towards the King Center. There were several vendors along the way and more people down that way. A small crowd assembled in chairs near the stage at what had been billed a rally.  There was interest, but little excitement. There was no momentum, no manifesto, and there was nothing to write home about. I'd wanted my daughter and friends to get a strong grasp of King's significance and relevance. I wanted us to participate in and witness a walking, moving history lesson. I wanted a connection between generations to me made. I wanted an indelible reminder of the important work yet to be done. 

The point here is not merely about a march. It is more about the place and role of culture in society. As each culture celebrates births, graduations, coming of age, marriages, people as well as buries it’s dead, so too is this celebration important.  A celebration for a King who has earned a National Federal Holiday cannot be scantily clad. A celebration on Sweet Auburn Avenue, the “black street of gold” on which King’s birth home stands must be one of pomp and circumstance, inspiration and practicality, culture and service. It must be a gathering of everyday people, and complete with a chariot for living Civil Rights leaders that now deserve to be carried. More importantly, all of it has to be followed with action.  

Therein lies a golden opportunity. Let’s re-create a march and rally unlike any other. Let’s get young people to help organize the celebration and include folks like Cee-lo Green and [let’s fill in the blanks]. Otherwise, the young generation of today and those that follow will not connect the dots or be able to understand King's legacy in context.  

Someone might even laugh and point, seeing nothing at all.

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One day, I will share my thoughts with you on how the lives of both King and Malcolm X played a role in the development of my (ever-evolving) political and spiritual worldviews. Much respect to the King family and to all who work tirelessly on the King Celebration each year. I greet you in love.